I write this on National Coffee Day, can words express what coffee mean to me? As I parked before coming into this coffee shop, a woman knocked on my car door and asked where I got my sticker of “Petrify the Patriarchy”. Although I couldn’t recall the exact site I purchased it from, she shared her admiration for my sticker and the message. And I realize this is one thing I enjoy about coffee shops. They are third spaces, where you can meet with members of the community, friends, or strangers and connect, or be alone connecting. It’s interesting that Starbucks are closing some of their locations, some first to go are ones that are solely for mobile orders with no seating. The lack of connection took away from the brand of being third spaces, and therefore some of those starbucks are getting eliminated.
And so with this being National Coffee Day, it’s not just about drinking coffee at home, but enjoying coffee with others and the lure of coffee shops (which is where I tend to write these blog posts from). They are places that serve as killers of distraction, intent focus, and fuel for creativity.
Coffee shops serve as my treat. I may not often buy drinks at the bar or the latest fashion accessory, but I don’t mind buying a latte. It’s worth it at the cafe to drink the creamy foam, sometimes beautiful artistic design, and linger with my computer or a friend in a chair with atmospheric lounge music as I write, or we talk, read, or people watch.
And so I cheers to you cafes around the world who have served as places to hold us in the midst of it all: the creativity, connection, study, boredom, and freedom to simply linger.
“Nobody can discover the world for somebody else. Only when we discover it for ourselves does it become common ground and a common bond and we cease to be alone.” -Wendell Berry
Yesterday, I opted to end my 10 days in Costa Rica with a walking tour of San Jose. It’s an easy way to squeeze in history, exercise, and tourism in a short amount of time. There were six of us tourists, all solo travellers. The interesting thing when you travel solo is you are out of your comfort zone, no familiar friends or family to converse with, and you have the opportunity to have conversations with people around the world.
On the tour, my only fellow American spent the past week clowning around Costa Rica. She literally was clowning, through an organization run by the infamous Patch Adams. They spread smiles around the world through comedic performance. We were an international group from Ecuador, Colombia, Netherlands, and Scotland. One was brought here for work, another has moved here temporarily as a digital nomad, and most for pure pleasure.
The day unfolded without much plans, we walked the laid out path our guide had set for us. But then we inquired about the restaurant he recommended La Esquinita de la Abuela (Grandma’s corner), an awe inspiring place with a cheap menu and local cuisine, decorated as one’s grandmother’s home would be. Our guide stated “you know how minimalism is popular, but Central America is not that. Minimalism is boring, we are maximalists. And this is decorated with maximalism.” In the corner of the restaurant, where chicken soup was being served, was an homage to St. Martin de Porres with brooms next to him. Upon exploration of who this Saint was and why was he here, he was a mixed race friar from Peru. He’s the saint for social justice, racial harmony, and mixed race people. The broom served as a symbol that all work was sacred, regardless of how small the task. I felt that in this restaurant that served authentic Costa Rican cuisine in it’s kitchy plates and glasses. The love was offered to all who entered.
We listened to local stories our guide shared with us over lunch, such as who was author Jose Leon Sanchez. He allegedly stole La Negrita (the beloved Black Madonna) and condemned to jail for years, and upon release fleeing Costa Rica, and found fame in Mexico City. We heard about a tradition of people wearing folk masks in small towns, who look like pinata heads but the opposite occurs. Instead of this pinata like figure being hit, you are hit with a stick, “you know what you may happen if you are too close.”
It was as if some of us didn’t want it to end. We enjoyed wandering (flaneuring) the streets taking in the recommended restaurants, cafes, and markets. The 2 ½ hour tour extended to over 8 hours, as we shared our professions, travel history, political views of our countries, and dreams over coffee and shared desserts. We stumbled to one of the top 100 cafes in the world, and also one of the most beautiful in the local theater. Our guide told us, if we couldn’t make it to a show, we could get a peak of the theater while walking to the restroom.
As we walked the streets, I was reminded of the film Before Sunrise, without the romance, and instead of two main characters, there were four. Who knows if we will see each other again, I made sure to share our contacts. Life has a funny way of working out, “we may end up meeting in another country” I told a fellow traveller as I gave her a hug goodbye.
As we meet strangers, when we travel solo, we have the opportunity to pause and reflect on who we are in this moment, where we’ve come from, and where we opt to go. What are the stories you choose to share? Where are the destinations you hope to go? What type of life are you stepping into when you return home? Where is home, and will home change? All of this occurs within the backdrop of an unfamiliar country, which adds to the allure of the fleeting moment. I can’t help but notice the nomadic wanderluster arises in me at times like this. The 25 year old backpacker who visited 15 countries in one summer, and so many hopes before landing my first full time job. Do I forever want to wander? Will I ever find one home? At moments like this, I don’t just meet new friends, but meet that old version of myself who still longs for adventure, wonder, and feels ephemeral.
When’s the last time you’ve met that version of yourself?
This week, I am squeezing a visit with my grandmother. She’s been such a powerhouse for much of my life, the top prescribing psychiatrist in Philly for quite some time. She owned a practice for decades, with hundreds of employees and numerous buildings. The past several years have brought about retirement and a bit of dementia. It’s been gradual, having long term memory, but lapsing in short term memory.
Mama Minda is what I call her, as she never wanted to be called grandma. She was quite young when she became a grandmother with me, I never knew any different. I accepted it, and it stuck. She helped pay for my living as I went to graduate school in psychology, and my first year of tuition. For a brief year after I got my doctorate, I lived and worked with her. I witnessed her wearing powerhouse suite blazers that were bright or filled with bold springtime flowers and heels, bedazzled herself with jewelry.
Depsite her dementia progressing, she still wears bling jewelry. The gold glistens as she walks with a cane, or holding onto your arm. Her time sitting across from patients, listening to their symptoms, now consist of crocheting scarves. She once led meetings and had pharmaceutical reps following her from one building to another offering expansive meals for staff members, I now had to spoon feed her lunch, or else she wouldn’t eat. There’s a sense of appreciation, as she feels this is a loving act and it is. We age, dynamics change.
In the two hours I spent with her, she asked me questions 30-50 times. I didn’t mind responding, as it was a reminder to practice patience. It also served as exposure therapy to talk about my recent break up? Our conversations went like this:
Grandma Me
How old are you now? 20? 30? 40? 46
Where are you living? California
Where in California? Avila Beach
Do you have a boyfriend? We broke up
Why? Not a good match
Was he American? Or Filipino? American
I’ll pray for you so you will find a Thank you
Good match, get married,
And have kids
And repeat
It’s one way to get over a break up… and I know her repetitive questions are a way to ensure I am “happy”, that I am taken care of. All the boxes are checked off for what brought about happiness in her era, and she wouldn’t have to worry about me. Or she could partake in any way to assist, by praying or attempting to play matchmaker.
I am not sure how many years we have together, but I will make the most of it. And will be happy to respond to whatever questions she asks, and know they come from a space of love. It’s a role reversal, and I’m happy to reciprocate.
It Only Takes A Smile 